Memories of Hazey Jane – Part 3
Posted on November 14, 2008
You might remember this next part. When I opened the door, the cat hissed and bounded from the living room. Other than that, the apartment was governed by a stifling silence; the only hints of your presence were the faint scent of Chanel and a smattering of legal papers on the dining room table. Not welcome I was expecting. But that didn’t stop me from lying on the couch, meditating with my eyes closed.
And when the door opened, call me the happiest man in the world. I practically suffocated you. You held your hands awkwardly at your sides, as if deciding whether to return the favor. By the time our lips parted, we were both gasping for air. You told me you thought I had vanished off the face of the earth.
“I was going to pick you up.” You added, in some disbelief. “Didn’t you get my message?”
I reminded you that I had just flown across the continent, and that my phone was not supposed to be on.
“What about after you landed? Did you think I’d simply forget about you?”
There was no need to say it like that. I’d been distracted, of course, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t accept that kind of explanation.
“You didn’t think? I nearly got a ticket. A cabbie nearly sideswiped me. I was out there nearly an hour, in the freaking cold, because you didn’t think? How much did you pay for the cab?”
I told her. It didn’t take Dr. Phil to see where this was going. I sank into the couch, and prepared myself for another volley.
Instead, you plopped down on the other side of the couch and turned toward me. The disappointment in your face stung like seasoning in a stab wound. “What happened to your face?”
“Huh?”
“We’re supposed to be married now.”
I didn’t know what you meant by that.
“You can’t run around like a kid in school! You have at least one person in the world who’s willing to wait for you, and you just go off as if she-as if you don’t give a shit about her or anyone else but you and your buddies.”
Me? You’re the one who told me to go. You said it’d be nearly unforgivable if I didn’t make it out there to see Gene at his finest hour. You said it would bring closure. As if everyone needs closure. What you mean is that you want us to forget about the time when the future was luminous as the sun; the cleanest of blank slates-
“You really think I’m talking about that stupid trip of yours? You really think I’m trying to keep you leashed up here?”
I didn’t know what else to think. You sucked your teeth, and went upstairs. “Good night, Jeff…let me know when you’ve passed the perceptive level of a cockroach.”
It all goes to show you have a great talent at making me feel stupid. I hate feeling stupid. I stayed up nearly another hour feeling stupid, and when I realized I left Harry Potter in the seat-back pocket, I didn’t feel any smarter. For both things, I played the blame game with Jane, but with a half smile at how she could make my mind so hazey. When we first met, you were capable of the same. Though you never did seize my hand in an orgasmic tide of fear.
But at least you didn’t banish me to the couch. Though I couldn’t get anything more out of you than a glare and a couple of comments about my needing a haircut, it still felt good to slip in next to you after such a long time away. And there I tried to rest. Trouble was, though the sun would be up in a couple of hours, the day wasn’t quite done with me. That turbulent jetliner hadn’t lost any of its vividness in my head, neither had my bashing my head in. I would see much worse things later, but that was a decent start.
I could still feel her fingers on my face – almost motherly in their dexterity and intoxicating in their unadulterated concern. For a moment, I could imagine those fingers doing something else, but that was okay; I was at home, out of danger, and free to contemplate temptation.
And there were ways of dealing with it. I wiggled next to you and muttered something I’m not going to reprint here.
“Do you know what time it is?”
It made me realize I slept too long on the plane. I’d been deported from Dreamland, and I wouldn’t see it until tomorrow night, at least. For the next few hours, I’d be a conscious prisoner in the waking world.
“Some of us actually have work in the morning. Good night, Jeff.”
As always, you were right – I hadn’t really expected you to say yes, but as I told the redhead, there was always the chance, right? That means anything’s possible.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because I don’t remember watching the sun rise.
Here’s where it gets interesting. I woke up some time later, my watch practically gouging my eye. It said it was 5 o’clock, which made no sense, since it was blindingly bright around me. I figured I had at least two good hours left, so I reached for the comforter, hoping I could sneak myself back into that tantalizing dream.
The sheet was gone.
And I don’t mean you hogged it, either, like you sometimes do. It just wasn’t there, almost as if it had been made of the same stuff as hopes and well wishes. And neither was the bed. Of course, I hadn’t stirred long enough to properly digest this information, so other than involuntary annoyance, It made no impression on me.
It took a husky Texan voice to do that. “Sir, I reckon you’re takin’ up quite a bit of space there.”
He was pretty tall, middle-aged, and balding, with a thick pair of Wranglers and a nearly threadbare flannel shirt. “What’s it to you?”
The corners of his mouth went up in a quarter-smile. The kind that wanted you to test him and see how far you’d go. “It’s getting mighty crowded, and I figure you might want to be a gentlemen and make room for my wife.”
So I did. I swung my legs over, and to my mild surprise, fell off, face first. A stuffed duffel bag broke my fall, and nearly my nose with it. I got up. Everyone, from a pair of sullen teenagers to the left, to a gaggle of wide-eye kindergarteners, was staring at me. Some were trying not to laugh, and not very successfully. I had recovered enough of my senses to wonder how the hell they had all gotten into our apartment.
I picked up my phone, and finally exhaled when I heard your voice. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I demanded.
You sounded a bit confused. “What’re you talking about, Jeff? Have they run out of alarm clocks in San Francisco?”
“About last night…” I scratched my head. “I’m sorry if I was an ass. Again.”
“Last night?” You paused. “I don’t get it. Is there something you want to tell me, Jeff?”
“I thought I just did.”
“Listen, are you trying to be funny? What time should I pick you up?”
“From where?”
You sighed. I could just see you on the other end, biting your lip, and counting to ten. “I’m really not in the mood. Doesn’t your flight leave in a couple of hours?”
“Let me call you back.” I hung up, and took a look a hard look around. Foot traffic surged and flowed around me like blood through a coronary patient. The Texan and his wife lounged, staring up at a screen from where I had been resting so contentedly. A pleasant voice thanked me for not smoking at San Francisco International Airport.
I checked my watch again, and then I understood. 5:30 in the evening made a lot more sense. Not that my mind could yet wrap itself around this paradox, but at least it made a lot more sense. There was just one more thing to be sure of. I muscled my way past an astonished elderly couple and into the bathroom.
Some guy in a suit brushed his teeth, hawked, and spat pretty loudly. I ignored him, and instead concentrated on my own pivotal moment – a great juncture at the exit of which must be madness; either for me, or for the universe, and it all depended on what I saw in that mirror.
I opened my eyes. The skin under them sagged like a hip-hopper’s jeans; the jaw under my open mouth drooped loosely, and made me look stupid, but I wasn’t looking at that. Instead, I noticed the bandage still clinging to my forehead. Alluring memories filled my nostrils with the scent of strawberries, and brought back the delicate fingers who had treated my wound-
And then I remembered that if this was when I thought it was, none of it was supposed to have happened yet. This was going to be damned confusing.
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